


A Hands On Approach

by Measured



Category: Fire Emblem: Kakusei | Fire Emblem: Awakening
Genre: F/M, First Time Blow Jobs, Masturbation, Sexual Fantasy, Verbal Humiliation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-11
Updated: 2019-07-11
Packaged: 2020-06-26 19:16:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,437
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19774672
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Measured/pseuds/Measured
Summary: After Noire goes blood and thunder on him, Laurent deals with his new realization of feelings for her in a hands on manner.





	A Hands On Approach

**Author's Note:**

> content notes: jaaacking offfff + fantasies. (blowjobs + girl on top + a bit of blood and thunder Noire so some verbal humiliation. Pretty vanilla stuff.) Also this fic is canon. Yup. This is totally what happened between the A and S support. This is canon, INTSYS told me so.
> 
> Ricken!Laurent, thought it doesn't come up. Gaius!Noire because one of my latest playthroughs has that. 
> 
> This assumes that Noire is around 18-19 and Laurent at least 20+, as per implied in various supports. (Severa's has her telling Noire that she is a "grown woman" while Laurent's time travel issues has him quite a few years older than everyone else and refers to him as an adult.) All characters depicted here are adults.

Laurent left the storage room that still echoed with her rage and--fled, really--and headed straight for his tent. He was deeply thankful that he did not run into anyone else in his current extremely flustered--and more--state. He was barely able to form a coherent sentence towards Noire, and now he realized that he was fully aroused as well. At least his lose robes and pants hid that part.

As the tent flap fell down behind him, Laurent rested his palm over his heart. With that monumentous scolding, where she completely dismantled every argument he might have in turn, she had set his heartbeat alight, his passion so intense that he could barely even speak. And even now, minutes later, he still felt the aftershocks of being exposed to her other side. And now he finally saw her true. Two sides of one person, one stormy, volatile, violent, the other demure, pessimistic and quiet. And each side was intensely beautiful to him. So much that he could scarcely bear it.

Had he not been fully aroused, and very aware of what had just caused his state, (or more precisely, who) he would've thought some kind of illness had befallen him. Flushed face, rapid heartbeat, heated skin, which grew more sensitive to the touch... this sounded like the symptoms of some kind of auge. Except, no...it was quite clearly a case of love. A wonderfully incurable case, that he would surely never recover from.

Even this far away, he could not recapture his composure. And now, as he gasped for breath, everything became so very clear. 

All that time, he'd focused upon his work and had a sigh in disgust how so many of their army seemed determined to put romance over the fate of their world, and the outcome of this war. His fellow comrades from the ruined era especially were constantly wasting their time with flirting and having petty arguments, often due to their flirting. Surely, one day he would have time to pursue a suitable mate, but for now, Laurent had kept to his studies and the battle against Grima and ignored such nonsense.

Well, in a sense....but then, perhaps he'd been a fool as well all along. Though it felt a sudden revelation in that moment, there had certainly been clues. A thought had caught in his mind, that Noire would logically be the most likely of them to die. Between her anemia, her fragile body and that archers themselves were somewhat more vulnerable, being unable to attack should the enemy come too close, if any among them were to fall to the enemy, it would be her. Only perhaps Yarne was more vulnerable than her. That one thought left him unable to sleep, barely able to even eat or focus on his work until he had ascertained that she was well. He watched over her on the battleground and off, only to find even more alarming things. Not only was she predisposed to be weak during fights, she was extremely lax in taking care of her well being. She rarely ate, slept little, and each battle took a horrible toll upon her mind. Even worse, she was forgetful about checking her bow, the one defense against the enemy.

Thoughts of her well-being shifted to thoughts of her beauty. Or to be more precise, they'd always been intertwined. Her bright red hair, that soft glance, her curvaceous body, and the way his mind continually thought about her lips--Even as he could not simply explain such thoughts as caring for a comrade, he stubbornly clung to the denial of his feelings. Frankly, his feelings had been blatant, right before him, and he had disregarded them time and time again with pathetic excuses. All until her screams of _blood and thunder!_ put him in his place and made him face what had always been there, perhaps even before they had come to this time.

All this time, love had surrounded him at every turn. And he had so carelessly ignored it, and his feelings for her.

There was no cold lake of water to dip in to cool his ardor. No, this was something he would have to face on his own. Head or, or to be more precise, hands on. He licked his lips. His hands trembled with excitement as he removed his boots, and hat and set them aside. He'd never felt as eager, or alive as the moment he'd felt the bite of her sharp tongue. Occasionally he relieved himself of frustration with this, late at night once his tasks were completed but never in a desperate manner like this.

(He hoped no sudden summons came, for it would be quite embarrassing. At the very least, he pulled the covers of his bedroll up to obscure should he be interrupted.)

He licked his palm and gripped the base of his erect penis with a gasp. Usually, he kept some sort of lubricant he'd refined himself, as one would make a potion, but for now the wetness of his tongue would have to suffice. He couldn't stop now to simply dig through his satchel and displace tomes. Still, even now, that fire she had set alight within him burned. The sound of her voice still resounded in his mind, and pushed his passion even further. 

As he stroked his fingers up his length, his mind went back as it often did, to that well-read novel.

Once, during the long period that inexact methods of time travel had produced, he had accidentally procured a ribald novel about the romance between a noble and his adoring maid. In his defense the title was misleading and mentioned magic, so he had assumed it a treatise upon the craft. 

However, it was quite the lucky find. He had read that book many a time, each time to impart one knowledge that he had never known. To learn, but also for the rising fascination of the scenes. Such as the one where the noble convinced the maid to "punish' him by scolding him soundly and making him kneel before her feet, and the opening scene he had thumbed through so many time, with that maid between his thighs...

However, as he felt the throbbing of of his penis against his palm, he reimagined a different setting. The first, gentler scene. Except, as Noire and himself.

In his fantasy, Noire's delicate ungloved fingers wrapped around his penis. She looked up to him with a question in her gray eyes.

_I...I might not be any good at this yet, but...I wanted to make you feel good. A-All right?_

Laurent closed his eyes. In his mind, he gently patted her head. _Nothing would make me happier than to be this intimate with you, Noire._

She blushed more deeply. _I've...I've been thinking of this, of you, for a long time. And I really can't... keep it back anymore. I need you inside me. Right now. Please...? I want to taste you...to feel you on my tongue..._

 _Yes, please, Noire. I, too, want you more than anything...I always have._. 

This one he spoke aloud, though softly. He would have to contain his ardor, lest he cause a disturbance and bring unwanted attention to his tent.

In the images of his mind, Noire looked up at him from between his thighs. Messy wisps of red hair framed her face Her face flushed even deeper red as her tongue traced over the tip of his penis. It was a very gentle, exploratory caress which sent him careening to more passion and pleasure than he thought possible. He licked his thumb and mimicked the fantasy with his hand. 

She drew back slightly and licked the sensitive underneath. Her lids closed, as she focused solely upon him. Oh, the thought of her lips around him increased his arousal so much that he thought he might come right there. 

(For so long, there'd been an untold fascination with her mouth. From her her soft, sheepish smile, the way she'd lick free a bit of candy, for she shared her father's sweet tooth, the soft hint of tongue. He'd excused it away, but in his fantasy he finally accepted this passion.)

In his fantasy, her lips closed about the head of his penis. In reality, his hand had to suffice for now. Still, he was pushed so far simply by her other side's excellent scolding that soon he felt intense pleasure filling his core, and then flooding outwards. He whispered her name then, to the air. _Noire_.

Slet out a little cry and drew back. White droplets dripped down her mouth, and fell onto her large breasts. Just the thought of her marked by his seed left him more turned on, even at this moment of climax.

_Ah, I did not warn you. I was overwhelmed by your beauty, and this feeling. My apologies._

She licked her lips. _Did...did I do well? It's my first time, so..._

_Yes....You did wonderfully, Noire. More than wonderful. Everything about you thrills me._

He gasped for breath, as a perfect calm filled him. But it wasn't enough. Usually, he would wipe his hands clean and focus himself back at work, or take the afterglow and use it to have a suitable amount of restful sleep.

But the fantasy of her was still so very appealing, so very arousing. In his fantasy she looked up at him with pleading gray eyes. 

_I'm sorry, but...I still want more. I've wanted you for so long...Please, Laurent..._

_I, as well, Noire._ In his fantasy, he reached out to touch her cheek, and she leaned into his touch. _I will gladly give you whatever you desire._

She climbed up on top of him and straddled him in his fantasy. He bit his lip as he thrust into his hand. The novel described a woman's vagina as 'softer than any silk, and warmer than anything he had ever known.' He would have to trust that the author had far superior experience than him. His wetted palm was as close as he could know for now.

His penis was so overly sensitive after his last climax that each touch left him overstimulated. Each touch made him grit his teeth with the perfect ecstasy of pain and pleasure. 

_You're going slower?_ In the fantasy, her lovely, demure features sudden turned into a savage snarl. _Blood and thunder! I demand you go harder you pathetic weakling!_

In his mind, her hips bucked rode him hard, with a cruel, savage laugh. He thrust wildly into his hand. Her laughter continued, wildly until it reached a fever pitch and she cried out in pleasure. His glasses fell down his nose. His own climax came again in such an intense and painful and wonderful way all at once. His hand was covered with his own come. In his mind, it was between her thighs that white dripped down. Such the thought of her covered with his come made him shudder inside, almost ready to grow aroused again.

In his mind, she let out a soft cry. _Oh, sorry! I didn't mean to yell..._

_No, I loved to see that side of you._

The fantasy of her smiled. _Laurent...I--I really love you. And I'm glad I could be so close to you like this. In truth, I want to be by your side always._

_I want nothing more than that, Noire. I crave your presence at every moment. In truth, I think I always have. I've been a fool for not confessing this earlier._

_I'm so glad you feel the same way..._

As she leaned in to kiss him, the fantasy disappeared, like a ghost before his eyes. The aftershocks of his climax still lingered with him. His penis ached from two successive orgasms so near together, yet that pain mixed with pleasure only added to his ecstasy. Laurent rolled over to his side, to catch his breath. His glasses dug into his face, but he remained still. For the first time, as opposed to simply recovering and putting himself to his next task, or readying for bed with much less frustration, Laurent felt a slight emptiness. 

It hadn't been enough. He craved her near. To curl together underneath the blanket exchange embraces and soft words.

Yet, now that he had allowed himself to accept his feelings and fantasize that she was near, he had felt a climax like none other. Even now he still was awed from its sheer intensity. How much more intense they would be if she were actually there. 

He stared out at the emptiness beside his bedroll. So this was love. Half the time it felt like a truly powerful ague, one that might claim him in a fever and leave him bedridden. The rest it left his composure shattered, and his thoughts a jumble.

This feeling was painful and more wonderfully intense than he ever thought possible. His earlier thoughts of love ballads being maudlin were soundly disproven. If anything, the love poems and ballads did nothing to describe the sheer massive force of love. 

He needed regain his composure, and then he would apologize, and confess his feelings in their entirety. A few days time should do. 

Except, a horrifying possibility came over him, which stole away the calm of the afterglow. What if while he was taking time to gather his thoughts someone else confessed to her? A slightly inelegant and messy confession was better than hearing of her marriage to a comrade before he could act. And truly, who wouldn't desire her? For each side of her was so very breathtaking and beautiful. Be it fierce and fragile, every side of her was so utterly compelling. He'd been so very thoughtless and stupid to not begun to court her earlier, and so stubbornly clinging to the idea that he would merely focus upon his studies and the war and not tarry with love until he was older and more experienced.

And there was a chance that perhaps she did not feel the same, or the quite same intensity, but he did not let it give him pause. He could not allow the fear of what-ifs to control him. Be it heartbreak or bliss, he would tell her as soon as possible. Here, his knowledge of the battlefield helped little. Possibilities and tactics helped little in the face of the human heart. He would simply have to be frank about his feelings.

But first, he thought, he'd have to wash his hands.


End file.
